


7-But For Grace

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 1, Early Days [7]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-06
Updated: 1999-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon's relationship with Obi-Wan sets a bad example at the Temple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7-But For Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by Fuumin

Leth Astl checked the roster of in-residence Jedi once more, as she had twice a day every day for the last five, hoping she would find the name she was looking for. She would have checked it more often, every hour, had she not been a Jedi herself and thus supposedly able to control her impulses. A bitter laugh crawled up her throat with that thought. “Supposedly” was indeed the operant word. Impulse control was one thing she was sorely lacking right now, one of the reasons she needed to speak with—

 _He’s back. Just in. Thank all the Lords of Light._ Master Jinn and his padawan were back from their mission to Graffias, and much earlier than expected. Briefly, she wondered why, checked the sick-call list and found Kenobi’s name on it. So he had an injured or ill padawan on his hands. That meant he’d be down in the Healer’s Hall. She straightened her tunic and ducked through the low lintel of the quarters she shared with her own padawan, who was in the practice rooms doing katas.

Her own apprentice. The source of her problem.

She’d chosen Bruck Chun just a few months before his thirteenth birthday, seven years ago, Knighted only a year herself when the Council first urged her to take a padawan and feeling inadequate to the task, she had nevertheless done as she was asked, observing the crop of initiates with little idea of what to look for. Master Billaba had urged her to trust in the Force in her search, so she had attempted to do just that, letting it guide her, without much success for a time.

Then she had seen Chun spar desperately, angrily with Kenobi for Qui-Gon Jinn’s approval, facing the same desperation and anger in his opponent. Yet the Jedi Master had chosen Kenobi, and that only reluctantly, not Bruck. Like Master Jinn, she had sensed the fear and anger in the boys, but she had seen in Bruck the insecurity behind it, how jealous he was of his opponent’s skills and accomplishments. The source of Kenobi’s anger was a mystery to her, but she had been unsure enough of herself at the beginning of her own training to recognize it in another, and to know that a kind master, one who loved and supported her padawan as much as her own had, could quell that sort of fear and the anger it gave rise to in a young one. Bruck was strong in the Force and had great potential, as did Kenobi. She had felt she could help Bruck be the Jedi Knight he should be, so she had decided to choose him.

Then the boy had nearly fallen into Darkness, misled by Qui-Gon Jinn’s fallen apprentice, and she feared she had been too late. Leth had gone to Knight Tahl then, a friend of her own master and Jinn, offering herself as the boy’s master. After numerous council meetings and an interview with the boy himself, she had taken him as her padawan.

The first year had been difficult, but he had more than repaid her efforts. He was a good student and worked hard to master himself and his lessons. He had grown from a rather sullen and angry boy with notable physical accomplishments in his training into a capable young padawan with a few flaws to iron out yet. Once he became certain of her confidence in him, Bruck’s natural leadership talent showed itself. He was independent, sometimes to a fault, not only comfortable with making decisions for others and but with the responsibilities that attend to being the one to make them. Once decided up on a course of action, she could depend upon him to follow through, and yet he was not inflexible, nor unleadable himself. He accepted her instruction and reprimands, even when harsh, with humility and gratitude.

Like herself, Bruck was no diplomat. He was, instead, a warrior in what was increasingly a peacemaker’s order, and the things he yet needed to learn she was not certain she could teach him: empathy, compassion, a greater degree of self-control. Yes, they were both severely lacking in the latter aptitude, she thought bitterly, her apprentice perhaps less than herself. It was an area of study in which she knew she could use a strict refresher course. As the master, so the apprentice.

Bruck was not, perhaps, the star among padawans that Kenobi was, with his brisk intelligence, effortless athleticism, and charm, but Leth’s padawan was talented and gifted in his own ways. And equally handsome, she thought. Oh, yes. Bruck was very attractive, with his white-blonde hair, olive skin, and ice-blue eyes, the genetic traits of the K’Fhar Settlers. He had been a beautiful boy who had grown into a devastatingly handsome young man.

And that was the crux of her problem.

The constant proximity and emotional closeness shared by masters and padawans often led to feelings of desire in the younger of the pair, if their species were compatible, and less often to the same feelings in the master. The older of the two was expected to set the example of self-control, certainly never using the position of trust to take advantage of what was probably merely a crush on the padawan’s part. Qui-Gon Jinn, unlike other masters in almost every aspect and this one as well, had chosen instead to take his padawan learner as a lover. The Temple had been abuzz with the gossip for tens now, since the two of them had retreated behind the closed doors of their quarters after reporting to the Senate on their mission, and not come out for four days. While they had been discreet in public once they had finally reemerged, Kenobi could not keep the swagger from his walk nor Master Jinn the small, satisfied smile from his lips.

Now, Leth somehow, disastrously, found herself faced with nearly the same problem Master Jinn had been confronted with, with one difference. She wanted Bruck, but her apprentice did not desire her. Every day, every hour, it became more and more difficult to accept that, to quell her own feelings, and pretend to be nothing but his master. She hoped speaking to Jinn would help her find a solution. At least that’s what she told herself.

She knew, however, that what she really wanted was his sanction.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Master Jinn, might I have a word with you?”

The voice was only somewhat familiar, but he recognized the face almost immediately upon turning in the Temple hallway. He and his apprentice were not long back from an aborted mission in which Obi-Wan had been injured, and Qui-Gon had just delivered his padawan to the Healers for their thorough inspection, indulging his newfound urge to fret over the young man, though he seemed well on his way to recovery. The woman who called after him now was Bruck Chun’s master, Leth Astl. He had not seen her since their apprentices had tangled with each other a few tens before, resulting in—among other things—a broken collarbone for Bruck and stiff punishments for both of them. He knew her only by that brief encounter and her own reputation as one of the younger full Knights. She had been 24 at her trials and had a solid if undistinguished record of service.

“Of course, Master Astl. I was just on my way to the gardens. Will you walk with me?”

Bruck’s master, a small woman in her early thirties, agreed but said nothing else until they were both settled on a bench in a secluded corner of the Temple’s gardens. Surrounded by trees and flowering bushes, this part of the gardens erased all signs of Coruscant’s iron face from view and was scattered with many such private pockets where quiet conferences and meditations were carried out.

“How may I help you, Master Astl?” Qui-Gon said carefully, sensing the woman’s distress through surprisingly slipshod shielding.

She turned startling green eyes on him, seeming to brace herself for a confrontation. Qui-Gon remained placid under her look. “I’m afraid I need some advice, Master Jinn, and it’s of a rather personal nature. If you find it too personal, please feel free to say so.” Qui-Gon indicated she should proceed, neither encouraging nor discouraging. She took a deep breath and plunged on.

“You see, I was wondering how you managed with your apprentice, managed to remain his teacher, before you knew how he felt about you.”

Qui-Gon exhaled in a soft hiss, despite himself, even though her words came as no surprise. Her fear of discovery had been plain when they had met with Yoda and Mace to discuss their apprentices’ punishment. This was, in fact, the issue that had sparked the confrontation between Bruck and Obi-Wan, and begun his own affair—though he hated to call it that, it was such a tawdry, temporary word—with his padawan. “You find yourself in the same position?” he asked, hiding his previous knowledge.

“Yes.”

“Does the boy know?”

“Yes. He . . . has no interest. I’m his master only, in his eyes.”

“Can you remain so?”

She looked away from Qui-Gon’s piercing blue eyes. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. Then, fiercely, despairing: “How did you stand it?”

“Knight Astl,” Qui-Gon laid his hand on her shoulder, alarmed at the strength of her pain, “calm yourself,” he said, speaking to her as he would to an overwrought padawan, a little sharply but not without sympathy. “You’re a Jedi, a good one, from everything I’ve heard. You know how to deal with this yourself. I don’t believe you need my advice.”

“How did you stand it?” she repeated. “Please, tell me.”

Qui-Gon wasn’t sure he could. “I’ve twenty more years of living with my feelings than you,” he said slowly. “Even so it is difficult. Love is a very powerful emotion, and a very powerful part of the Force. But it is only one emotion, not the whole of us. And yet, the truth is, there were times I was no more certain than you that I could stand it,” he admitted. “But you must not—cannot—let it cloud your judgement. Do what’s best for the boy, and for the order. There aren’t enough of us to be able to indulge our own feelings selfishly.”

“Yet you do,” she said bitterly, immediately apologizing.

Qui-Gon almost laughed, but realized how it would sound to her in her pain. Would that he had such freedom with Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan with him! There was so much he wanted to share with the boy that had no place between master and padawan learner. Even making love, there was a part of him he held in reserve for now, only hoping he could one day let it go with a man who had become his equal as well as his lover. And there were times he worried that Obi-Wan desired him only because Qui-Gon was his master, not because he’d come to love the man who played that role. Always he sought the balance between his own desire and his duty to his apprentice, but with imperfect success. But how could she know that?

“Less than you might think,” he told Bruck’s master, waving aside her apology. “I walk a very fine edge, being lover and master to my padawan, especially to one who feels so passionately because of his age and his nature. It’s not a course I would recommend. It’s not one you can follow, in any case, if the boy doesn’t return your feelings.”

“No.” Her voice was neutral, but misery radiated from her like heat.

“Have you spoken with the Council?”

“Yes,” she replied, voice catching. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, visibly straining for calm. “They have suggested I find him another master.”

“Do what you must, Knight Astl. Do what’s right for the boy, not for yourself. You’ve passed your trials, but he has much to learn, and a half-trained padawan is a danger to himself and others. Don’t fail him.”

She was silent for a long space. Qui-Gon sat with her in her misery, his hand on her back, lending her his own strength, a warm touch of the Force, and his sympathy. He was lucky, so lucky that Obi-Wan had loved him in return, lucky his Padawan was no fool, lucky this had happened when Qui-Gon had learned his own lessons. And yet, was it luck or the will of the Force? Qui-Gon was never sure where one began and the other ended. He firmly believed there were no coincidences, but it was not always a comforting thought.

“Thank you, Master Jinn,” Astl said finally.

“It’s very difficult,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “I am sorry.”

She nodded. “But the way is clear. As the Code dictates.”

“Yes.” He felt a hypocrite agreeing with her. He’d never believed the Code dictated anything. It was merely a set of guidelines, to his mind, if it were anything more than simply teaching aphorisms. But that was his own heresy and not one she needed to hear at this moment.

“Please,” she said quietly, and he knew she wanted to be alone. He touched her once more, stroking her short, dark hair, and left her to herself in the gardens. He’d thought at first to do his meditations there, but was in no mood for them now. What he wanted was his padawan’s sunny presence to silence his own fears.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Obi-Wan was surprised to see his master when he left the Healers Hall, had indeed been surprised he’d walked his apprentice there in the first place. Yes, he’d been injured, but he’d also been back on his feet for several days. It wasn’t like Qui-Gon to hover unnecessarily, even now that they were lovers. What might seem cold and uncaring for a lover was simply good training for an apprentice. He was expected to take care of himself. So when Qui-Gon had turned him over to the Healers—odd enough in his doing it himself—he’d fully expected to meet his master for evening meal, but no sooner, and that was yet some hours away. But here was Qui-Gon waiting for him only a short time after he’d left.

“Master, is something wrong?”

“I was about to ask you the same, Padawan. What did the Healers say?”

 _//Liar.//_ “Very little. The breaks are knitted, the muscles and ligaments healed. The two days in the bacta tank seem to have done the job quite well. They did wonder why I’d been shaved though. Fortunately, they thought it was the healers on Graffias.”

 _//Impudent padawan.//_ “The concussion?”

 _//Only when you hide things from me. What’s the matter?//_ “No sign of it, or any lingering effects. Just the lung congestion, and it’s not bad.”

It was a game they played often, always had, these double conversations on two different subjects, spoken aloud and shared mind to mind, a variation on a training exercise Obi-Wan had delighted in as a young padawan.

 _//What makes you think I’m hiding anything?//_ “And how long are they expecting that to last?”

 _//Because I know you. Do you think I’m blind? What’s wrong?//_ “Not long. A few days, if I spend some time in a healing trance. It may take me a little longer to get my wind back. Easy exercises for a while, they said. Slow katas, no sparring.”

“Good. I forget sometimes, Padawan, how resilient you are,” Qui-Gon said quietly, smiling and cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek in an unusually public display of affection. “Go and do the trance. I want you well. Until evening meal, then.”

Obi-Wan watched his master walk away with confused amusement. “Fusspot,” he muttered finally, shrugging, and turned back toward their quarters.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bruck’s master sat for a long time in the gardens after Master Jinn’s departure before finally going to her knees. She felt angry and betrayed, both of those emotions driving her to actions she knew were foolhardy and desperate. She was irrationally angry that Jinn had cautioned her as the Council had, angry that he had not sided with her, angry that he had taken what he wanted and denied her the right to do the same. How dare he suggest his own situation was different from hers? What padawan wouldn’t jump at the chance to bed Qui-Gon Jinn? What master wouldn’t, for that matter? He was deluding himself if he thought Kenobi actually loved him. The boy was barely 20, hardly a man long enough to know his own mind when it came to the charismatic man who’d raised him, anymore than Bruck—

Anymore than Bruck did. How could she think that? For seven years she had seen Bruck at his worst and his best and knew him well enough to be certain he was no indecisive fool. Nor was her padawan a stranger to his own emotions. Like all the apprentices, he had been given ample opportunity to make friends and find sexual partners and had done so, and she had in fact been touched by the fact that Bruck seemed much to prefer serial monogamy to the promiscuity some of the other padawans—including Kenobi—practiced. He knew his own mind, and his own heart. How dare she assume otherwise?

Master Jinn was right. She could no longer remain Bruck’s master. Her own feelings for the boy were making a complete fool of her. Somewhere, she would have to find the courage to do what was right for the young man she loved and let go of him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the dark, blinded: the invisible blade coming from nowhere, everywhere—here; parry; dodge, but not into the tumble of stones to the left; deflect the remote’s three rapid shots; sense your opponent’s feelings, look for distraction; avoid the uneven and slippery patch of flooring; lunge in with a low sweeping cut at the opponent’s legs, overleaped, followed by an upward cut blocked with a circular parry and lunge forward again, bringing the sabers hilt to hilt, locking them with a hiss and whine against each other; an opportunity to gauge the opponent’s size and strength as you strain against each other ( _large, powerful, winded and tiring, fearful? faltering? focused? too many f’s—pay attention!_ ); a wrenching heave sending you over backwards, rewarding that inattention; tuck, roll, reach out to anticipate the next blow; cut the power as you come up inside the opponent’s guard; leap, twist, power-on, come down with your blade on the other, follow it to the floor with your body weight, trapping it there, turn the wrists, lock the blades again, heave—

“Hold,” the Saber Master said. “End the bout. Very good, both of you. A particularly nice maneuver at the end, Padawan Kenobi. How would you defend against it? Show Padawan Kashkakkia when she has retrieved her weapon.”

Obi-Wan stripped off his blindfold and ran his sleeve across his forehead, chest heaving, muscles trembling. He was soaked with sweat, his practice clothes reeking after the two-hour workout, and he had a terrible urge to scratch his crotch, where the hair was growing itchily back. Not for the first time in the last few days he cursed his master soundly, if silently. They hadn’t stopped for more than three brief time-outs, when both of them were simply too winded to continue. In a free bout like this, stamina won in the end and that was really what Obi-Wan had over the Wookiee apprentice he faced. Her reach was longer than his, her saber proportionately longer, and she moved with a natural silence Obi-Wan envied. But large as Kashkakkia was, she wasn’t as supple and hadn’t been training as long or as hard as Obi-Wan had and was, in fact, several years younger and so less experienced. Because of his recent injuries, Saber Master Harza had paired him with the younger padawans for the past week, making him teach as much he as practiced, only today giving him a real opponent. The running and swimming had helped get his wind back in a short time, and the healing trances had taken care of the last of the infection he’d carried back from Graffias. Kashkakkia had given him a good workout, despite her age. In a few years, she’d be a formidable opponent. In a few years, he’d be—well, that remained to be seen, didn’t it?

The Wookiee removed her own blindfold and retrieved her practice saber from where Obi-Wan’s disarm had flung it, deactivated, several meters away. Kashkakkia grinned a feral Wookiee grin at him and called her saber to hand effortlessly. Still breathing hard, Obi-Wan smiled his own feral smile, ignited his practice saber and brought it up in salute.

The remainder of the lesson was mercifully short, which was just as well, as neither of them were capable of more sparring. The sabermaster let them go shortly with her usual pithy advice and a dose of infrequent praise. “You are becoming a fine swordsman, Obi-Wan,” she told him. “Master Jinn has trained you well.”

“Thank you, Master.” While the praise pleased him, he still had doubts he would ever be as skilled as Qui-Gon.

Turning toward the practice room egress, he realized they had been observed.

The figure looked familiar, but it wasn’t until he was quite close that he fully recognized the young man, who was also wearing a Padawan braid and tail. With a shock, he realized it was Bruck. He looked, Obi-Wan thought, like he’d felt just out of the bacta tank: pale and drawn and not himself. Obi-Wan wondered how long the other apprentice had been standing there, why he hadn’t been aware of him as he had been aware of both Kashkakkia and the sabermaster during the bout, and what he was doing here

Obi-Wan clipped the practice lightsaber to his belt and wiped his face and neck with the towel he’d left among his gear at the door. Kashkakkia paused on her way out to give him a questioning look. _//Walk with me?//_ Obi-Wan shook his head. “I think I’m wanted, friend. Perhaps I’ll see you at evening meal.” The Wookiee nodded her assent, passed Bruck with a curious blue-eyed look, and left the two of them alone.

“Bruck,” Obi-Wan acknowledged.

“Kenobi. Brilliant move, that last,” the other apprentice told him in an almost-friendly tone. “One of your master’s?”

 _Here we go again,_ Obi-Wan thought disgustedly. _More baiting. More jealousy._ He and Bruck had had a nearly disastrous run-in with one another only a few weeks before that had resulted in Obi-Wan losing his temper and breaking Bruck’s collarbone, using the Force. He’d received a huge number of demerits on his record; been placed on a halfyear’s probation, during which time he was subject to unappealable expulsion; and caught unholy what-for from his master, who’d made his life hell for a time with extra work and training. “No, as a matter of fact, Padawan Chun. One of my own,” Obi-Wan said evenly. This time, nothing Bruck said was going to disturb him.

“Really? I didn’t think you were capable of independent thought, especially not now.”

“Not now what, Bruck?” Obi-Wan just managed to keep the uneasiness out of his voice.

“Why, now that you’re fucking him. Or he’s fucking you, or whatever it is the two of you do, besides play with razors.”

Obi-Wan smiled gently, not quite condescendingly. “It won’t work again, Bruck. It’s not a secret anymore. The Council knows, my friends know, his friends know; frankly, anyone here with half an eye can probably tell we’re sleeping together. I should probably be grateful to you for bringing it all, ah, to a head, shall we say? I’m still sorry about breaking your collarbone, though. No hard feelings?”

“You shit, Kenobi,” Bruck snarled. “You do the damage and I get punished. Do you know how many demerits I got on my record? Six! Because you assaulted me.”

“Well, that’s four less than I got, Bruck, and a halfyear’s probation too, which is why I’m not playing. Excuse me, Padawan Chun. I’ve a class and I’d like to shower first.”

Obi-Wan picked up his duffle and started to walk past Bruck. The other apprentice grabbed him by his practice tunic and would have slammed him into the wall, had Obi-Wan not been just as well-trained as Bruck was sloppy in telegraphing his intentions. Qui-Gon’s apprentice stepped into the other boy’s attack, using Bruck’s own momentum to swing him into an armlock, which Bruck in turn twisted farther into until he had extricated himself again, turned, and in doing so, kicked Kenobi’s feet out from under him and fell hard with him as Obi-Wan grabbed Bruck and pulled him down with him as he fell, half-twisting yet again to make the other apprentice take the fall partially under him. Regardless, Obi-Wan’s shoulder hit the floor hard enough to jar loose his grip and he had to scramble to cover his opponent’s body with his own and pin him to the floor. It had been a quick and lithe dance that would have earned at least back-handed praise from the combat master.

“I won’t fight you, Bruck,” he warned the other apprentice. Obi-Wan rolled away and crouched close to the floor, bracing himself for the beating he expected, as the other apprentice got warily to his feet. “I’ll let you kick the shit out of me and we’ll see who ends up expelled. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t care, Kenobi,” Bruck cried. “I’ve lost my master. What difference does it make?”

Bruck wheeled away from him with a cry of despair and fled down the hallway. Obi-Wan let himself slump back against the wall and sat for a moment, catching his breath and shaking off the residue of fear and anger Bruck had left behind him. There was something else he’d felt in that briefly unshielded moment before Bruck fled: despair, and a bone-deep pain. Almost, Obi-Wan felt sorry for him. Almost.

The encounter left a bad taste in his mouth and a sense of foreboding in his heart. Quieting his mind, he let the Force flow around him, searching into the murky future. As usual, nothing was clear, but there was a sense of darkness in his search that made him uneasy. He wondered if he should go after Bruck, decided against it, knowing how precarious his own position at the Temple was right now. Let Bruck start and finish it; he would have none of it. He sighed and shook himself, wincing. “I’m going to have a hellish bruise there,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder, then got to his feet, picked up his duffle and went to the showers.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bruck was on his knees, trying to meditate, to still the pain in his heart and mind, to accept, to endure, to exist in the moment, to . . . not hate. Not hate the Council. Not hate Kenobi. Not hate Qui-Gon Jinn. Not hate his life for taking this turn. Not hate his own master. How could he hate her? She had given him so much, seen what others had not seen, taught him his strengths, made him face his weaknesses, cajoled and cared for him for seven years, brought him to manhood. And now they were being separated. She would not become a master; he would find himself with a new one he had not known since adolescence. They would not see each other again, perhaps until he was raised to knighthood. All because she had fallen in love with him.

The thought left him shaking with anger, that she was being punished, they were both being punished, for something Jinn and Kenobi had gotten away with.

The door to their quarters opened and he heard his master enter. He knew her footfalls, the rustle of her clothing as she removed her cloak and her boots as she had hundreds of times before in this small space that had become home. He felt her presence as she entered his room and stood before him.

“Bruck. My Padawan,” she said, stroking his hair.

The pain in her voice almost undid him. He looked up at her. “My Master,” he replied softly.

“No longer,” she told him quietly, her hand toying with his braid. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone, and the Council will find you a new master.”

“I’m sorry, Master—” he began. She stilled him with a touch.

“This is not your fault, Bruck. If anyone is to blame, I am. I don’t want you to feel that way. I should have found the courage to do this before the Council had to. I don’t want us to part with you feeling guilty. I don’t want us to part . . .” Her voice choked off and Bruck reached for her, pulling her down on her knees in front of him and into his arms.

“I don’t either,” he whispered in the same choked voice. “It’s not right.” He held her close as she had held him so many times, as they had held each other in sickness and injuries, for warmth, for comfort, for reassurance. She had always been affectionate with him, quick with hugs, easy with small touches. He sensed something different in her embrace now.

She leaned back and took his face in her hands, stroking his white eyebrows with her thumbs, looking at him in wonder, as though seeing him for the first time. She stroked his cheekbones the same way, then his lips. Then she leaned in and kissed him.

More than warmth flooded into him through their bond, a bond soon to be broken.

“Do you think I can do that so easily?” Leth murmured against his mouth between kisses he returned in a sort of stunned reflex. “As though our bond were a switch to be thrown? That I could just stop feeling your presence, just stop wanting you through the fact of your absence from these rooms? As if that were enough to sever us.”

Bruck didn’t know what to say. The emotions washing over him through their wide-open bond—hunger, need, desire, so much desire—lit a fire in his groin. He felt himself growing hard, started to let his master go, but she would not let him. She moved onto his lap, straddling his legs, and continued kissing him, pressing against him, rubbing against him. As though watching himself from a distance, he was aware of his arms sliding around her, beneath her tunic to the bare strip of skin between the bottom of her sash and belt and the top of her pants. She shuddered against him.

“Bruck, Bruck, if this is the last we are to be together, please, take me to bed. Make love to me.”

As aroused as he was by her kiss, the touch of her body, the warm skin against his hands, the idea of bedding his master had never occurred to him and didn’t appeal to him now. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, or that he didn’t love her—but she was his master. Though he knew she had fallen in love with him and it hurt him to see her suffering, this was not what he wanted, and he balked at the idea, as much as he cared for her.

“Please, Bruck,” she whispered, holding onto him. “Just this once, forget what I am. Do this one last thing for me. Love me.” Her voice was low and pleading and it rent his heart.

He owed her that much, he thought. She had given him so much in the years they had been together. He could do this one thing for her.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Here, my love, what’s this?” Qui-Gon asked his padawan, gently stroking his back. “You’re all bruised here. What have you done with yourself? Did you get this sparring?” Qui-Gon kissed the tender black and blue area over his shoulder blade, lapping it with his tongue.

“You could say that.” They were lying together in bed in the early evening, drowsy in afterglow, Obi-Wan on his belly and Qui-Gon propped on one arm beside him, running his large, strong hand over his lover’s skin. Long denying themselves this kind of curiosity or the permission to indulge it, they were now fascinated by each other’s bodies, exploring and experimenting and forever touching one another when time and place allowed it. Obi-Wan’s medical leave had allowed them a luxurious portion of both, as well as relative privacy. Qui-Gon had been gentle and loving with his new lover and apprentice after their confrontation on the way home from Graffias.

“Or not. Which is it?” Qui Gon inquired.

“Involuntary sparring. I had a brief encounter with Bruck this afternoon. He returned the favor of my very sincere apology by jumping me.”

“Padawan—”

“Before you go lecturing me, Master, I’ll have you know I was ready to take a beating from him had he chosen to give me one, rather than violate my probation. I told him I wouldn’t fight.”

“As you should have done, Obi-Wan. What was it he wanted?”

“To complain about his punishment. Apparently, the six demerits on his record are my fault.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, wondering what Master Astl saw in her apprentice. “I feel badly for his master, having such a student. I’m very lucky.” He leaned over and kissed the back of his padawan’s neck, then started down his spine.

“Yes, you are,” Obi-Wan agreed, stretching sensuously under this master’s lips and tongue and little nips. “He said an odd thing, though.”

“What’s that?” Qui-Gon murmured distractedly, having reached the small of Obi-Wan’s back, now being preoccupied with whether or not to proceed lower, and just how.

“He said he’d lost his master. Do you suppose the Council’s separated them for some reason?”

Qui-Gon sat up, chilled suddenly. “I hope not, Padawan.”

“Hey,” his lover protested. “Don’t stop. Why are you so worried about them separating Bruck and his master?”

“You know she’s in love with him, don’t you?”

“Yes, after you pointed it out to me that night I’d hurt him, when she came to our quarters with Master Yoda and Master Windu. Why does that worry you?”

“Because, Padawan, he doesn’t return her feelings. The Council already suggested she find him another master, which means it’s obviously begun to interfere with her teaching. If they’ve been separated now, that doesn’t bode well.”

“And you’re worried they’ll think the same of us.” Obi-Wan smiled indulgently. “You’re such a fusspot sometimes, Qui-Gon. She’s much less experienced than you are and not even a Master yet. He’s her first apprentice, I’m your third. She’s not all that much older than I am—”

“—Whereas I’m old enough to be your father. All right, my love. You’ve made your point. ‘Fusspot,’ is it?” He nipped at Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Stop talking and go back to what you were doing.”

“Tyrant.” Qui-Gon ran his tongue down the small of Obi-Wan’s back, stopping just above the cleft and was rewarded with a shiver and moan.

“Ah—yes, Fusspot. Just there.” His apprentice squirmed, tilting up his pelvis.

“‘Master,’” Qui-Gon insisted, reaching under him and closing his hand around Obi-Wan’s scrotum, tugging gently and stroking his thumb over textured skin. He watched his apprentice’s face go slack, heard him exhale a shaky “O—” and smiled smugly.

“Oh, Master . . . Fusspot,” Obi-Wan breathed, raising his hips again, almost purring.

Qui-Gon smacked a playful hand across his apprentice’s ass. The crack sounded like glass exploding and left a red imprint. Obi-Wan jumped, but not too far as Qui-Gon still had hold of his balls. “Oh, again, Master,” he murmured in that absurdly sultry voice Qui-Gon had never dreamed his padawan possessed. “Please.”

Qui-Gon obliged, a little harder. “Not enough of these when you were small?”

“Obviously not,” Obi-Wan agreed, sighing.

“That explains a few things about your behavior. More?”

“Please—ah!” Qui-Gon paddled him again, and again, and again, each time with a resounding, stinging _crack_ but little real force, until his apprentice was squirming and grinding against the sheets, moaning. It seemed rather silly, but the look of utter abandon on Obi-Wan’s face made it worthwhile. He straddled his lover’s legs, stroking the firm round globes of his ass, soothing the sting with kisses and licks. Then he gently parted them and leaned down and tongued the ring of muscle at that tight entrance, smelling musky sex and salt sweat from their earlier lovemaking. Half hard already, the scent made him rigid. He licked and tickled the delicate skin between scrotum and anus until Obi-Wan was arching into him, then probed inside with his tongue, which made his apprentice shudder and cry out.

“Please—” he begged in a strangled voice, nothing sultry about it, pitching Qui-Gon the tube of lubricant from the bedside table with a wild backhand. Qui-Gon caught it, smiling at his lover’s eagerness. Coating his fingers, he slipped one inside, moving in and out, brushing Obi-Wan’s prostate until each breath was one long moan. As his apprentice arched back to meet him, he inserted a second finger, which made him buck and tremble.

“Now, please!” Obi-Wan rasped, barely articulate, but Qui-Gon took his time, stroking and probing and opening him with his slick fingers while he spread more lubricant on his own rock-hard erection. Then, with a deft movement, he rolled Obi-Wan onto his back and spread his apprentice’s legs with knees and hands. Obi-Wan cried out and clutched the sheets futilely as Qui-Gon roughly dragged his hips up onto his lap and fitted himself against the loosened ring of muscle, then drove himself inside, all the while watching Obi-Wan’s face. His apprentice thrashed convulsively, wrapped his legs crushingly around Qui-Gon’s waist, gasping, eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure and need. “Fuck me, Qui-Gon. Come on, fuck me! Hurry!” he panted, shaking, arching into his master, arms thrown wide across the sheets, completely open and vulnerable.

Obi-Wan had rarely said that word in Qui-Gon’s hearing, and never in the heat of passion or anger. The sound of it shocked him and also ignited a coal of fire that sent a searing heat into his genitals and a tremble through his limbs. It was crude and coarse and utterly carnal, conveying nothing but consuming desire. Obi-Wan _wanted_ him, all of him. Holding his apprentice’s hips in a bruising grip, Qui-Gon thrust into him hard and withdrew and thrust in again. “Say it again,” he demanded hoarsely.

“Fuck me! Gods, don’t stop now! Fuck me, Qui-Gon! Make me come! _Fuck_ me!” Obi-Wan begged frantically, reaching for his own weeping cock, marking the rhythm for his master.

“Such a vocabulary, Padawan,” Qui-Gon growled, complying, quickly building to a pounding pace as the sounds coming from Obi-Wan grew more excited and desperate and guttural until he was almost shouting. “Come for me, love,” Qui-Gon rasped, near it himself. “Let go.”

All language gone, all coherent thought extinguished, raw with the need for release, Obi-Wan climaxed, crying out like a man being tortured, arching up on his shoulders, cum arcing in a jet over his hand and stomach, and a moment later Qui-Gon filled him with his own orgasm in a deep groan, thrusting blindly as Obi-Wan closed around him.

Released, shaken more than he cared to admit at the depth of their passion, Qui-Gon inhaled deeply and ran his hands over Obi-Wan’s sweat-slickened body to center himself, rubbed his lover’s cum into his own palms and Obi-Wan’s skin, brought his hands up over his lover’s hips, thumbs stroking his belly, fingers gently raking his lower back, around his hard, narrow waist and over the sculpted chest flaring into supple shoulders, down his muscular arms to the heavy, agile hands turned palm-upward in surrender. Both of them could feel the energy flowing along Obi-Wan’s body under Qui-Gon’s hands. His apprentice made small contented sounds. “So beautiful, so tight,” Qui-Gon murmured. “And so noisy.” Obi-Wan smiled faintly and sighed as Qui-Gon disengaged himself with another small groan of pleasure and lay down beside him, pulling him close.

“Where did you get such a foul mouth, Padawan?” Qui-Gon murmured in his ear.

“Hmmph, as though that’s a word you’ve never heard before,” Obi-Wan replied sleepily.

“Not from you. Noisy as you are, you’re not much given to talking smut.” He licked the curve of his padawan’s ear.

Obi-Wan opened one eye. “Did you like it?”

“Yes, oddly enough. I suppose it’s a quirk, like your thing for paddling.”

“Or your thing for razors,” his apprentice retorted, grinning. “Well, there’s another thing to thank Bruck for, then.”

“What—the paddling?” Qui-Gon looked startled. That was a rather unbelievable scenario.

“No,” Obi-Wan laughed. “The new vocabulary. That’s what he said we were doing, this afternoon, fucking each other. It must have stuck in my head.”

“You know it’s more than that, don’t you,” Qui-Gon asserted in sudden fierceness, holding him tight. “You know I love you.”

Obi-Wan was surprised by his master’s reaction and leaned up to kiss him. “Yes, I do know that, Fusspot. And I’ve trust enough in you not to question whether you know it of me. Qui-Gon, what’s wrong? You’re awfully sensitive suddenly.” He propped himself up on his master’s chest and looked into the cobalt eyes. Usually clear and piercing, or cloudy with passion, they’d gone a murky, indeterminate color, like stirred-up water. “What’s bothering you, my heart?” he said, holding Qui-Gon’s face between his hands, kissing him gently. “Tell me.”

“I suppose,” Qui-Gon said after a longish, self-searching pause, “that I’m afraid of losing you.”

“You’re really worried the Council will separate us, aren’t you? Because of Bruck and his master. What are you not telling me?” He wondered uneasily if this was the darkness he’d sensed earlier this afternoon.

“Nothing, love,” Qui-Gon reassured him. “I know nothing you don’t. It’s just my own fears.” He paused, looking vulnerable in a way that made Obi-Wan’s heart clench. “It took me so long to find you—”

“I was here all the time,” Obi-Wan said softly, kissing him again. “I’ll always be here, Qui-Gon. No matter where I am, I’ll always be here.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Bruck woke again, she was gone and he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. From the first, it had been wrong between them. Not just awkward in the way first-time lovers were always awkward. Not just hungry the way first-time lovers could be. Not funny or ridiculous or uncontrollably passionate or hesitant or even weird. Just wrong.

He’d had casual partners before and found it difficult to understand why anyone would want to. He needed a deeper connection between himself and the person he took to bed than most of his fellow padawans seemed to, to make it worth his while. Otherwise, it seemed like so much gymnastics and there were better ways to get a workout. A five-klick run didn’t leave him feeling empty inside the way just fucking did. The way sleeping with—fucking—Leth, his master, had.

It wasn’t even that he hadn’t been able to perform, hadn’t made her come, hadn’t satisfied her. It was that she knew she didn’t have his heart as well as his body, that he had known it too. It made the act just that, an act, nothing more. He’d been careful and considerate during and tender with her afterwards, held her close, tried to make her feel cared for and cherished, but they’d both known that too was an act. He loved her, but not the way she wanted him to, and how or how much he loved her was not enough.

And now she was gone, in the middle of the night. He reached out across their bond for her, found her shields tightly closed to him but still sensed her somewhere nearby. In the gardens. She must be meditating, he thought. But why was she shielding herself from him, from everyone? Something wasn’t right. He began to fear for her without knowing why, got up and dressed quickly, and left their quarters, heading for the gardens. He was halfway there when he knew he’d started too late.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Every Jedi—every master, every knight, every padawan learner, and most of the initiates—felt it when she died.

Obi-Wan was dreaming of Rue Dariat, the young woman who had died in the same mudslide that had almost killed him, felt her ripped away from him again in his sleep and knew she was dead. This time, there was pain associated with it, something hot, burning its way through his chest into his heart, searing it, cauterizing the breath in his lungs—

He cried out and found himself sitting up in bed, tangled in sweaty sheets like so many nights before. But the pain was still there. His chest was on fire. He couldn’t breathe. Beside him, Qui-Gon writhed and clutched at his chest, face contorted in pain, sheened in sweat.

“Master!” Obi-Wan gasped, struggling to breathe, leaning over him in fear. Pain flowed down his left arm as he knew it was flowing down his master’s.

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open and stared past him, unseeing, or seeing into somewhere else beyond the darkened room. His hand found Obi-Wan’s arm, closing on it in a crushing grip. “Padawan—” he gasped.

“No! Qui-Gon!”

Abruptly, the pain stopped. Both of them sagged in its wake, drawing deep, shaky breaths.

“Are you all right?” they said simultaneously, touching each other’s chests in identical gestures. It would have been comical, Obi-Wan thought, without the memory of that agony. At that moment, they knew the source had been neither of them. Qui-Gon’s apprentice nearly sobbed with relief.

“I thought you—”

“You were—but no. It’s someone else,” Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes again and sending his senses out into the web of life he was so closely connected to. “Bruck’s master,” he said softly, a moment later. “In the gardens.”

“He’s killed her,” Obi-Wan said, horrified.

“No, Padawan,” he shook his head, a deep sadness in his voice. “Far worse.”

 

They dressed and went to the gardens, as so many others had. Mace Windu unerringly found them among the others who had come out of curiosity and horror. “Qui-Gon,” the council member called to him, his height making him clearly visible, even in a crowd including more than humans. It parted around Windu without effort, making a clear avenue to Obi-Wan’s master. Master Windu looked ashen even in the half-light of the gardens’ main path.

“Did she say why?” Qui-Gon asked without preamble.

Scowling silently, Windu handed him a pocketholo. He flicked it on, flinched almost imperceptibly at the image of Leth Astl on her knees beside a garden pool, lightsaber hilt laid precisely in front of her. "Master Jinn," she said in a calm voice, calmer than it had been when they had last spoken here. "I thought you of all people should know why I am doing this. I hold no one responsible for my actions, least of all my padawan, whom I love with all that I am, or you, but I see no alternative. I have neither your emotional strength nor your fortitude, nor the stomach for giving up my apprentice to another. The Council has decided to separate us and I find I am unable to sever the bond between us as I must if Bruck is to have a new master. I am following your advice, Master Jinn and doing what is best for my padawan." The holo winked out.

“I know this is not what you advised her to do, Qui-Gon,” Windu said archly. His tone angered Obi-Wan and he fought to calm himself, as it seemed to leave his master completely unaffected. The two were old friends, yearmates, former lovers, and their bickering went back years. Usually it was more good-natured, unless Council business was involved, but tonight, as it did on those occasions, it made Obi-Wan nervous and irritable.

Qui-Gon shook his head, saddened and horrified. “No, Mace. I told her not to let her feelings cloud her judgement, to do what was right for the boy. I thought she would find him another master. Not this. Had I suspected she was this desperate and unbalanced, surely you know I would have said something to you or someone on the Council. When did you tell her you were separating her from her apprentice?”

“This morning. She seemed to take it well. Better than the boy. He was quite upset.”

“Yes. He met my padawan in the practice rooms; Obi-Wan said the same thing.”

“When did she come to you, Qui-Gon?”

“Immediately after we returned from Graffias. I had only just taken Obi-Wan to the Healers. She was distraught then, but not unbalanced. We only spoke for a few minutes. I’ve seen nothing of her since. Perhaps I should have sought her out again,” he finished regretfully.

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon and Master Windu attentively, sensing a bit of guilt in the former and deep misgivings in the latter. He was beginning to share some of his master's worry for their own future together.

“Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said quietly, in part hoping to escape Windu’s appraising gaze, in part to distract him, and in part because he felt it was the right thing to do, “I’d like to find Bruck. Is he with her?”

Windu gave Qui-Gon’s apprentice a skeptical look. “What could you hope to say to him, Padawan? Do you think he’ll welcome comfort from you?”

“Respectfully, Master, we have known each other a long time. We’ve not been entirely friendly, but we are yearmates, and we have a history, as do you and my master.”

“Go to him you should, young Obi-Wan,” Yoda’s voice piped up from behind them. The little Jedi Master had cleared another avenue through the crowd, arriving after Windu and other Council members. That seemed to settle the matter, as Master Yoda’s opinion often did.

Obi-Wan bowed to all three senior Jedi, murmured “With your permission, Master,” to Qui-Gon, who nodded assent, and walked toward the far end of the crowd, which parted around him and had formed a quiet, respectful crescent around the clearing where Leth Astl’s body lay.

Bruck’s shields were completely gone, his mind and heart wide open and radiating pain and guilt. Obi-Wan—and anyone else who cared to—had sensed him from the moment they’d entered the gardens. The power of those emotions was almost nauseating and very difficult to shut out. Obi-Wan had to strengthen his own shields to keep from being swept into his old enemy’s horror and confusion. Any animosity he had ever felt for the other apprentice fell away like an old cloak, discarded for empathy.

He was surprised to find Bruck kneeling beside her with her head in his lap, stroking her hair, his eyes glassy with shock. Somehow, he hadn’t imagined the other apprentice would react to his master’s death with anything but anger. He’d rarely seen Bruck in any other mood but angry or boisterous. It was painful to see him like this, painful to see him alone. Had he so few friends? Were all of them away? No, there were Davrin and Aalto, both hanging back as though they didn’t know Bruck when the three of them had always been inseparable. _What’s the matter with them?_ Obi-Wan wondered. _Can’t they see he’s hurt?_

It was painful as well to see Bruck’s master’s body, her spirit so unsettled that it had left her corporeal form behind, instead of dissolving all of her into the Force. Her face had contorted into a rictus of pain that Obi-Wan suspected was more than physical. The wound itself was surprisingly small but perfectly aimed into her heart; she hadn’t lived long after inflicting it. Her lightsaber hilt lay beside her, deactivated as she died. There was still a stench of burned cloth and flesh in the air.

Obi-Wan went to Bruck and touched his shoulder, then knelt beside him. Bruck seemed not to notice his presence. He stroked his master’s hair with a genuine tenderness that surprised Qui-Gon’s apprentice. Settled beside him, Obi-Wan touched his shoulder again, laid his hand there, opened himself to the crowd around them, and tried to channel their warmth and support through himself into Bruck. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

The other apprentice looked up then, although Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he knew yet who was beside him. “It’s my fault,” he said in a dazed voice. “I didn’t love her enough.”

"That's not true," Obi-Wan told him gently but with all the conviction and sincerity he could muster. "She loved you too much, Bruck. It's not your fault at all. She was the master, not you. You're not responsible for her actions; she was responsible for yours."

“No, you don’t understand,” Bruck said, in a calm voice that worried Obi-Wan. “We slept together tonight, for the first time. She knew they were going to separate us and she wanted it so badly that I agreed. But it was just—fucking. I didn’t feel anything. And she knew it. I hurt her. Look how I hurt her,” he said, touching her cold, grimacing lips.

Words failed Obi-Wan. It seemed impossible that anything he could say would assuage that kind of guilt, misplaced as it was. What Bruck’s master had done was selfish and cruel. She had used her padawan for her own pleasure and needs, and in doing so, wounded him, perhaps beyond repair.

He was saved from having to say anything by the appearance of the Healers, two of whom took charge of the body, and two more of Bruck, who went with them listlessly. With that, the crowd began to disperse to their own quarters until at last only he and Qui-Gon and the Council were left in the gardens. Obi-Wan gave Master Astl’s saber to Master Windu.

Qui-Gon laid his hand on his padawan’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. Obi-Wan wanted to lean against him, feel his master’s arms around him, but knew that would have to wait until they were in private. Here, it would feel both defiant and crude to be so casually affectionate in the face of the enormous failure of a relationship that might have been their own.

“I still think you’re a fool, Qui-Gon,” Master Windu said, continuing the part of their conversation Obi-Wan had missed. “And you’ve set a dangerous precedent. You see the results of it.”

“I’ve always respected your opinions, Mace, even when I don’t agree with them,” Qui-Gon replied mildly. “But I think what you really mean in this case is that I’ve set a bad example, and I can neither respect nor agree with it. You have nothing to complain of in my behavior with my padawan, nor has his training suffered for it. Whether you like it or not, the relationship is a fact now and it’s harmed no one. I know your feelings about it. Please don’t reiterate them. I’ve said before this is not a discussion I’ll have with you, especially not in the presence of my apprentice.”

“Let’s hope, Qui-Gon, that we never have to discuss it for reasons like this. Make sure you do your job here. It’s the least you can do.” Windu replied, distaste evident in his expression, and turned on his heel. Mild anger flickered around him like heat lightning. The remaining Council members departed with him, leaving only Yoda behind.

“Right Mace is, Qui-Gon,” the little Jedi Master told him. “A dangerous precedent set you have. Live up to it few can. Sure you should be that you do.” Yoda turned his gaze on Obi-Wan. It was like being under a high-intensity spotlight and Qui-Gon’s apprentice fought down the urge to squirm under it. “Both of you.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan murmured, bowing.

“Hear me did you, Qui-Gon?” Yoda demanded when his master said nothing, There was, beneath the annoyance, some amusement in his voice, as though he were speaking to a sullen but beloved child.

“Yes, My Master,” Qui-Gon replied, sounding very like that. Obi-Wan suppressed a smile.

“Good. One tragedy too many this is. See it repeated I would not. Make it right you will. Good night, Qui-Gon, Padawan.”

“Good night, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon murmured his own reply, looking into the grove where Leth Astl had ended her life, and they were left alone.

After a moment, Qui-Gon shook himself and touched his padawan’s cheek with rough fingertips. “Are you all right?”

Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing against his master’s hand, seeking warmth and reassurance and love in the touch. “They slept together, Bruck told me. He thinks her death is his fault because he didn’t love her.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, obviously pained, and drew Obi-Wan into his arms. “Gods, Padawan, maybe Mace is right. Maybe I am a fool—”

Obi-Wan pushed his master away and looked up at him angrily. “You are if you think our situation is the same. I _love_ you, Qui-Gon. That’s what makes this work. We’re _not_ just fucking each other. You’d never ask that of me; I’d never give it, not with you. What she did to him was wrong, so wrong—”

Qui-Gon touched his fingers to his apprentice’s lips, silencing him. “Hush, Padawan. She was still a Knight and your superior. Before you earn the right to criticize, you must learn your own lessons.”

“You think what she did was all right, then?”

“Did I say so, foolish Padawan?” Qui-Gon rebuked him sharply, teacher and Jedi Master emerging. “I merely remind you of your rank and status. See you don’t forget it, Obi-Wan.”

Chastened, he dropped his gaze. “Yes, My Master. Thank you, Master.”

Qui-Gon raised his chin with a finger. “That said, no, it was not right, and no, I would never ask it of you, and I hope you would never give it, even if I did. I hope you think more of yourself than that. What I want from you must be freely given and freely returned or it is without value.” He took Obi-Wan in his arms again and kissed him, a little hungrily. His apprentice gave it back gladly, wanting some of his master’s heat to warm himself with.

When they broke it, Obi-Wan remained in his master’s arms, listening to the comforting sound of Qui-Gon’s calm and steady heartbeat. “If I hadn’t felt the same about you, if I hadn’t loved you just as much, in the same way, what would you have done, Master? Would you have let them separate us?”

Qui-Gon was silent and remained so. As it stretched into minutes, Obi-Wan felt himself first chilled then angry.

“My Love—” Qui-Gon began, feeling his apprentice’s emotions shift.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Obi-Wan burst out, incredulous. “You’d listen to them. You’d do the same now, wouldn’t you? Everything else you’ll fight the Council about down to the last atom, but I don’t matter enough—”

“Padawan!” Qui-Gon’s voice was like a whip and Obi-Wan jerked away from it reflexively. His master held him out at arm’s length, shaking him a little. “Be silent! If you cannot speak wisely, say nothing, fool. Would you have us repeat everything that just happened here? Yes, I would give you up if the Council demanded it. I would not do so without a fight, not now, because I know you love me and how much, and I believe—I _know_ —we can make this work on all the levels it must. But I would let you go rather than make them tear us apart. That would hurt us both too much.

“If you had not shared my feelings,” Qui-Gon went on, “I would have continued to conceal them from you, and if that were no longer possible, I would have found another master for you before the Council needed to. You are that important to me that I would sacrifice having you near me for your own sake. There is nothing more important to me than your life and your training—and they are one and the same. Do you understand that? The young man I love will be a great Jedi someday. I am not selfish enough to stand in his way, nor to get him killed through my own negligence.”

Obi-Wan felt deeply ashamed. His master was right to call him a fool. “I’m sorry, Master. I, I let my feelings—”

“You let your fear run away with your good sense, Padawan. It’s precisely this about which I worry.” Qui-Gon rubbed his apprentice’s arms and shoulders through the layers of fabric, soothing the bruises he knew he had left there. “I think both of us have some work to do in that regard. I think it’s time we went through the fear exercises together. You’re ready for them.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said contritely, looking away. He anticipated doing that about as much as he’d anticipated the anger exercises, but he knew his master was right. There was a great deal of fear in him, centered on losing Qui-Gon. It was both gratifying and disquieting to realize his master felt the same way.

“But not tonight.” Qui-Gon cupped his cheek in one hand, leaned down and kissed him carefully, as though it were their first, before either knew how the other felt. Surprised, Obi-Wan returned it with more passion, but Qui-Gon broke away then. “Slowly, my love. We have work to do, and it should be done with care and mindfulness, not your usual wild abandon, much as I love that quality in you.”

“Master? I don’t—” Obi-Wan began, not comprehending.

“You don’t feel it? There’s been a death here, a violent, fearful, angry death and it’s stained this place with the Dark Side. It’s colored our own conversation just now. Something like this cannot be allowed to remain within the Temple precincts. Mace and the Council expect us to cleanse it, since they seem to hold us ultimately responsible for it.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said stupidly. He did feel it, now that his master had pointed it out, wondered why he had missed it before. _//Because you were already afraid, my love. The Dark Side is fear, first,//_ Qui-Gon told him. “What are we to do, Master?”

“What would you think, Padawan? Life to balance death. Certainty of heart to balance fear. We’ll make love here, with care and joy and mindfulness, without reservations about each other, like the first time.”

“Not quite so awkward though, I hope,” Obi-Wan smiled the slight, lopsided, wryly mischievous smile Qui-Gon loved.

“No, love,” Qui-Gon agreed, remembering it with his own amusement. “But a little more formal. Follow my lead.”

“Yes, Master.” _//With pleasure.//_

Qui-Gon smiled and again leaned down to kiss him almost chastely, touching him nowhere else, and again, Obi-Wan returned it, but just as chastely this time. After a few moments, his master traced his lips with his tongue and Obi-Wan opened his mouth to him, letting Qui-Gon explore, find the ticklish spots, taste him, before he did the same, pushing into his master’s mouth in a gentle riposte. They fed their pleasure back to each other until it became a closed loop between them, kissing attentively, mindful of the sensations it created all by itself, how it made their pulses race, their breath short, their hands tremble. Obi-Wan had never felt himself aroused so quickly by nothing more than a kiss.

 _//Slowly, love. We’ve a long way to go.//_ Qui-Gon stepped back and slid his apprentice’s cloak from his shoulders, folded it, and lay it on the grass. “Take mine and spread it out. The ground’s cold. We can use yours for cover, if need be.” Obi-Wan did as he was told, following the curves and muscles of his master’s shoulders and arms as he slid the heavy material from them. Qui-Gon shivered under his hands and reached for his apprentice’s belt, unclasping it deftly. It took Obi-Wan a little longer to remove his master’s, his hands were shaking so by then. Qui-Gon guided him then kissed him again. _//Slowly, slowly, love. Think of it as an exercise in control.//_

“I’ve so little where you’re concerned,” he murmured, smiling wryly again.

“So I’ve noticed, my Padawan.” Qui-Gon returned the smile, untucking Obi-Wan’s sash and slowly unwinding it, brushing his groin up against him with each pass around his back, until it was all Obi-Wan could do to not reach for his master’s erection or his own. Qui-Gon folded the long piece of cloth with precise movements and placed it with Obi-Wan’s belt, then put his hands on his apprentice’s shoulders and let him remove his own. Each time his hands met behind Qui-Gon’s back, Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to a different spot: his mouth, the pulse in his neck, the hollow of his throat. He folded the sash just as carefully and placed it with Qui-Gon’s belt.

His master leaned in and kissed him again, a little more aggressively, and slid the tunic from his shoulders, backing off to fold it just when Obi-Wan had begun to return the kiss in earnest, losing himself in the texture and heat and taste of his master’s mouth on his. But in a moment Qui-Gon was back, leaving a trail of heat from his lover’s mouth down his throat and across his shoulder and collarbones while Obi-Wan stripped him of his own tunic. This time, when he stepped away to fold it, Qui-Gon looked after him hungrily. “Patience, my heart,” his apprentice smirked, sensing the turnabout.

“You,” Qui-Gon said, sitting down on his cloak and starting to remove his boots, “are maddening.”

“Let me.” Obi-Wan pulled off his master’s boots and socks, then turned and pushed Qui-Gon down on his own cloak, straddling him, running his hands slowly up from his waist, over the hard muscles, sensitive skin, and scars, tracing the contours and pale lines with his fingers. Before he got very far, Qui-Gon grabbed his wrists, wrapped one long leg around his waist, and flipped his apprentice onto his back, reversing their positions. “Patience yourself, Padawan,” he admonished, proceeding to remove his apprentice’s boots and socks.

“I can’t believe everything’s folded so neatly,” Obi-Wan laughed, watching his master set their boots side by side. “It’s usually all over the room, or in a trail from the door.”

“It may yet come to that,” Qui-Gon replied with mock gravity.

“It may,” Obi-Wan agreed. “It always seems to deteriorate at about this point in the process. And I believe it’s my turn. It’s easier if you’re either lying down or standing up.”

“Which would you prefer?”

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. _//Now who’s maddening?//_ “I don’t really care. I just want them off you. But lying down will do.”

Obliging, Qui-Gon rolled off him, flinging his arms outward invitingly, looking expectant. Obi-Wan smiled again, shaking his head. _//Tease, that’s what you are.//_ “Look at you. Did you stuff a loaf of bread down your shorts?” Qui-Gon laughed aloud, a sound Obi-Wan loved to hear and didn’t often enough. His master’s laugh was rich and deep, but soon turned to a low moan as Obi-Wan rubbed first his cheek then his lips against Qui-Gon’s groin, the pressure and friction leaving a damp spot over his erection.

“I thought you were going to take these off?” Obi-Wan’s lover said a little breathlessly.

“When it’s time. What were you saying about an exercise in control?”

“Don’t make me do it myself,” he warned.

“All right, all right. You know we both have chancy control from here,” he reminded Qui-Gon, unfastening his lover’s pants and easing them down over his hips, along with his underclothing. Qui-Gon raised himself off his cloak and sighed as Obi-Wan freed his cock from the tangle of fabric. “Not a loaf of bread,” the younger man observed.

“No comparisons to food, please. Too vulgar.”

“I thought you liked vulgar. Or is it raunchy you prefer?”

Qui-Gon touched his cheek. “Not here. Not tonight.”

Obi-Wan looked embarrassed. “No, of course not. Sorry. I let myself get distracted.”

“You’re doing fine,” Qui-Gon encouraged, lying back as his apprentice slowly pushed the last of his clothing downward, exploring as he went, stroking the insides of Qui-Gon’s thighs, over and behind his knees, down his calves and ankles and finally over his feet, hands trailing fire and leaving shivers behind. Obi-Wan had managed to almost complete folding the trousers before his master grabbed his waistband and pulled him down beside him.

“I thought you had more patience, Master,” his apprentice said sadly.

“More than you know,” Qui-Gon said in a gravelly voice, turning him onto his belly, kneeling astride him, and opening the fastenings at his waist. Large hands that could almost circle his waist eased the cloth over his hips, down his ass, around his throbbing erection and down his legs in a smooth, continuous movement, tossing them aside unfolded, until they were both naked at last. Then he moved aside and touched Obi-Wan’s back. “Up,” he said. “Face me.”

Obi-Wan rose up on his knees again and turned to his lover, who traced a finger down his cheek and across his mouth. Obi-Wan opened his lips and touched his tongue to Qui-Gon’s finger, caught it between his teeth and then sucked it, rolling it over his tongue like candy as his master’s other hand trailed down across his chest. Obi-Wan mirrored the motions with both hands, stroking Qui-Gon’s skin as if he needed to memorize how the texture changed from his nipples to the scars over his ribs, across his stomach, and around his back.

Qui-Gon moaned softly and closed his eyes, his hand coming to rest over his lover’s heart. They were breathing in time now, slow and deep, holding the arousal down with effort. Obi-Wan spread his hands over Qui-Gon’s chest, the thumbs meeting over his breastbone, fingers wide, feeling his master’s energy roiling under them as Qui-Gon stroked the wet finger up his spine. He shivered, feeling his own energy rise up that column of nerve and bone, following the touch. They leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and deep. Obi-Wan shuddered, gooseflesh rising all over him, hair on the back of his neck standing up.

“It’s never been like this before,” Obi-Wan gasped as they pulled a little away from each other.

Qui-Gon’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “No, love. It will never be the same again, after this night.” He slid his hands down Obi-Wan’s back, over the hard muscles of his ass, digging his fingers into them and pulling his lover tightly against him, cocks grinding against each other’s groins. Obi-Wan’s hands repeated the pattern and their mouths locked on each other’s again, tongues tasting and pushing and slipping around one another, hips making almost involuntary thrusts against each other. Qui-Gon bore him to the ground then pulled away again after some moments, inhaling deeply.

“Wait, love, wait,” Qui-Gon gasped, moving back and turning his lover onto his belly again.

Breathing like a runner, Obi-Wan shivered a little in the garden’s cool air and tried not to think about the fact that they were in a courtyard of the Temple, covered only by an environmental field and the shade of the foliage. Anyone with a set of macrobinoculars in the upper rooms would be getting a good show.

_//Does that matter to you? Are you embarrassed, Padawan?//_

Surprised with himself, he found he wasn’t, nor was it titillating, as it might have been. _//No, it just feels—right.//_

 _//Because it is, my love, whether Mace recognizes it or not.//_ Qui-Gon knelt between Obi-Wan’s legs and placed his hands over the small and center of his back, not quite touching the skin. He let them hover there until the warmth of his power and connection to the Force spread across his lover’s skin like another cloak. _//Meet me, love. Reach out to me.//_

Under his touch, Obi-Wan relaxed and closed his eyes, opening himself to the Force, to Qui-Gon’s presence in it. Outside that, he could feel the pain and despair of Leth Astl’s death still lingering in the grove like a heavy shadow. He felt Qui-Gon’s lips on the back of his neck, working their way down and across his shoulder as his hands flowed down his back, full of warmth and love and the power of the Force. He sighed under the touch, reached out to his master and felt the solidity and brightness of his presence driving that shadow away. //It’s the two of us and what we have that makes us more powerful than the darkness, not me alone.//

Obi-Wan opened himself to his master physically and through their training bond as Qui-Gon pulled him back by his hips until he was on his hands and knees, feeling his lover’s excitement and also the fullness of love in his heart as he reached around and grasped his apprentice’s cock, stroking the fluid already leaking from the tip down over the shaft in a lazy, sensuous movement. Obi-Wan moaned and thrust into his master’s hand, wanting more of that touch, needing it, sending out that desire and the love that went with it to him.

Warm, slick fingers ran over the sensitive flesh and muscles in the cleft of his ass as the other hand continued to stroke, maddeningly slow, just enough to steal coherent thought from him. “Now, Qui-Gon,” he begged in a hoarse whisper. Slowly, his lover drove one finger inside past the tight ring of muscle, drawing a soft cry and a long shudder from Obi-Wan.

“I love this. Don’t stop,” Obi-Wan gasped, now thrusting back against his master’s hand. Qui-Gon twisted the finger inside him and stroked the sweet spot over his prostate, while the other hand released his cock and instead grasped his scrotum and squeezed and tugged gently.

_//Tell me how much.//_

“More than sleep—more than—Ah! There! Yes!—more—Oh!—more than food, more, more, than breathing, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan panted, writhing. “I want you—inside me—more than—anything.”

“A little longer, love,” Qui-Gon murmured, stroking his lover’s spine and the small of his back then down into the cleft again as two fingers slid inside, gently spreading him. It drove a tremor through him, forcing out a tortured moan. The other hand caressed his balls and left them pulled up tight against his body in arousal. Qui-Gon’s fingers moved in and out, widening the passage into his body. _//Tell me why.//_

The power of speech was gone now. He answered the only way he could. //Because I love you. Gods how I love you! You’re part of me. The best part of me. You made me who I am.//

“Do you remember the last time you said that to me, love?” Qui-Gon’s voice was ragged around the edges, his own control finally slipping.

 _//In anger. This time with gratitude. With love.//_ “Please, Qui-Gon—” he groaned, limbs trembling.

Qui-Gon arched over him, kissed his neck, breathed into his ear. _//You made yourself, my love. I only helped.//_ “A little assistance, please?” He held his hand cupped beneath Obi-Wan’s chin.

Obi-Wan laughed giddily and spat into his master’s hand, heard Qui-Gon do the same, and shivered in anticipation. _//Now. Please now. Nownownownow—//_

He felt the fingers withdraw from inside him, his master’s spit-wet cock pressed against the loosened muscles and made himself relax, though it was the most difficult thing he’d ever done in this pitch of excitement. Qui-Gon drove himself inside as Obi-Wan cried out, until his groin was tight against Obi-Wan’s ass. His apprentice shook and moaned, muscles contracting hard around him. _//Slowly, love. We’ll make it last.//_

Qui-Gon rubbed his back and reached around to stroke his cock again, brushing soft lips, his raw-silk beard, and the spun silk of his long hair over his lover’s shoulders. _//I want this joining with you more than my own life, Obi-Wan. And I would give that to you, for you. In an instant, a heartbeat. Without reserve.//_

“No!” Obi-Wan recoiled. The idea alone was too painful, and yet he felt the same himself. How could he deny his lover that willing sacrifice?

“Yes, my love. I will, when the time comes, as it does for all of us. _//Now I can only give you this joining in the Force.//_

Qui-Gon began to move in him, and at the same time, Obi-Wan felt his master’s presence and his own—caught up in it with him—filling the grove with light. For once he could see, actually see, the light they served and walked in surrounding and flowing through them, their joined bodies a nexus of power and beauty and heat and light. Together they lit the night and charged the air around them, and Obi-Wan knew that when they climaxed, every person in the Temple who had felt Leth Astl’s death would feel this, too. They moved in unison, breathing together harshly as passion mounted, feeding their pleasure back to one another, voices crying out at the same time as Qui-Gon drove himself deep into Obi-Wan’s body and they sought one another like lightning seeking ground.

“Oh, gods, oh gods, Qui-Gon!” Obi-Wan wailed, almost as though he were in pain.

 _//Here I am, love,//_ he answered, and opened himself completely to his lover, all the shields he had ever built in his life vanishing like mist in sunlight.

It was enough to break his rhythm, to stop him cold, that view into his Master’s soul. _//Qui-Gon—I never knew—//_ It was like being blinded and learning to see again. All the familiar things he loved were there, but subtly changed by the emotions passing between them. Even the darkness they carried in them was not so much evil as a poignant weakness in this light.

 _//You needn’t—//_ Qui-Gon began, moving slowly inside him again, bridging the gap in their climb toward ecstasy.

 _//I want to.//_ His own carefully built shields dropped, leaving him wide open and broadcasting. Behind him, Qui-Gon trembled and gasped, “Oh, love,” he murmured and rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan’s hair. “What a great heart you have, my Padawan.”

 _//No greater than my master’s.//_ “Please, Qui-Gon,” he said in a voice heavy with desire, “Let’s finish it.”

_//Yes. It’s time.//_

They rocked in unison again, rebuilding the rhythm and urgency, Qui-Gon stroking his cock. It took only moments to bring them both to the edge. Obi-Wan felt as though he were looking down from a great height, and then Qui-Gon thrust into him and he was falling from it, lights exploding against his eyelids and in his head, his pleasure and his master’s both, their voices echoing through the grove, in unison, in ecstasy, in love.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mace Windu, Master Jedi and Senior Council Member, watched the flickering Force light from his window overlooking Courtyard Grove, felt it, as did everyone else, when Qui-Gon and his apprentice reached their climax in the ritual, felt their deep love for one another and delight in each other’s body dissolve the lingering darkness and pain Leth Astl’s death had left behind. Perhaps he’d been wrong about them, he thought. Only time would tell.


End file.
